The Holy Trinity
by loubug14
Summary: One-shots, ficlets, and drabbles about members of the Golden Trio. Most recent stories: What's Wrong with Your Face? (Hermione Grager/Marcus Flint), The Taste of Victory (Hermione Granger, Lily Potter)
1. For Love and Remembrance

Title: For Love and Remembrance  
Characters: Harry/Ginny  
Challenge/Forum: The Golden Snitch 'Light it Up Like the Fourth' Challenge (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu)  
Prompt: (colors) red, white, blue  
Word Count: 360

* * *

 _Red_

She put the final touches on her hair, swept up in a low chignon with just a few whisps loose near her temples. She'd been ready to scrap the whole thing and throw it up in a ponytail, but Hermione had never failed at anything so Ginny let her try one last time. She had to admit, the final product was worth it. She'd never considered herself a girly-girl—what with six brothers and a career in Quidditch—but today she felt like the princess her dad had always called her. She smiled softly as she thought about him, waiting for her in his dress robes. She couldn't wait to be his little princess one last time.

 _White_

Harry waited as long as he could before turning. When he did, his heart skipped a beat. He knew Ginny was beautiful, but there was something about the moment—with the dress flowing from her waist and the bouquet of crimson poppies she carried and Arthur escorting her, looking every inch the proud father he was—that just magnified her beauty. Harry drank her in, from the lace framing her graceful neck to the cinch of the dress at her waist to the waterfall of silk flowers that cascaded down the side of her skirt and back to the train. Then his eyes traveled back up, green connecting with hazel, and his heart soared when she grinned fiercely.

 _Blue_

The ceremony was short and sweet, with vows they had each written themselves. Hers made him laugh; his made her cry. Ron forgot which pocket he put the ring in, and Hermione rolled her eyes at her fiancé's snafu. There was a wolf whistle at the kiss—either Bill or George—which Molly made a half-hearted attempt to suppress. And Harry was happy—he really was. But the present absence of their missing loved ones colored the day ever-so-slightly, and the tinge of sadness was acutely felt by all when, before walking down the aisle as man and wife, Harry and Ginny laid a single poppy on three empty chairs in the front row.

For family. For remembrance.

* * *

 _A/N: It would have been really easy to fit the prompt colors into this piece, so my person challenge was to use the colors thematically. Just call me Krzysztof Kiesloski._


	2. Triggers

Title: Triggers  
Pairings/Characters: Hermione Granger, Harry Potter  
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch's 'Light it Up Like the Fourth' Challenge (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu)  
Prompt: (song) Katy Perry's 'Firework'  
Word Count: 500

* * *

The nightmares hadn't stopped.

Not after she was fully recovered—at least, as recovered as she'd ever be, thanks to Bellatrix's cursed blade. Not after the Battle of Hogwarts, when she saw Molly Weasley blast her personal dementor into a million little pieces. Not even after a year with a mind healer, slowly working through the trauma her school years.

Ron had lasted through Christmas, but he eventually left and relocated back to the Burrow, where Molly could mother him.

"It's like, you're my trigger, 'Mione," he admitted one night, when they'd all had too much elf wine and Harry had passed out on the sofa. "You start screaming, and all of a sudden I'm back in the dungeons listening to you be tortured."

She tried not to resent him for that: that his worst nightmare was listening to what she went through. He had lost his brother—had watched Fred crushed by the debris from Rookwood's _Bombarda_ —so she knew there was more to his recovery than just her screams.

That didn't make his leaving hurt any less.

She'd thought throwing herself into work would make the pain go away, but the truth was she'd burnt herself out. She'd stretched herself paper-thin at the DRCMC, and after months of suppressing her anger a final comment from her blow-hard boss about half-breeds had toppled her resolve like a house of cards.

Harry had escorted her from the Ministry, her shouting her resignation and refusal to work for a pompous, pea-brained, toe-rag the whole way to the Floo.

Now here she was, crying on her bed at Grimmauld, single and unemployed. She didn't know if it was rock bottom, but it sure felt like it. Her chest felt tight, like she'd been buried alive and was running out of oxygen.

She wished she still had her time turner, so she could start all over again. Go back to first year and fix all of the wrongs. She wanted a do-over, a take two. She'd be better the second time around. She's fix everything, save everyone.

Save herself.

She heard Harry come in, climb the stairs, open her door. She felt him slide up behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist, his nose nestled in her curls.

"Hey."

She sniffled in response.

"You're gonna be OK, Hermione. It's all gonna be OK."

"What am I going to do, Harry? There's no way I'll be able to work at the Ministry after today."

He kissed her forehead. "Brightest witch of our age? You can do anything. Maybe today was fate, and another door will open for you that leads you down the perfect road, to the perfect job. You don't need the Ministry to show the wizarding world what you're worth."

His hand stroked her arm, and she melted into his touch. Here she was safe.

They fell asleep on her bed, and for the first night in a long time she did not wake screaming.


	3. Turning Ten

Title: Turning Ten  
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Luna

Forum: HPFC  
Challenge: Soulmate!AU Challenge  
Prompt: Your soulmate's name on your skin as a tattoo.

Forum: HPFC  
Challenge: FRIENDS Challenge  
Prompt: Write about Luna Lovegood (8.18)

World: Hogwarts  
Word Count: 2,098

* * *

The name became evident on a child's tenth birthday.

Before the tenth birthday, the tattoo would be a scribble—perhaps long, perhaps short, but never legible.

For children raised in a magical home, the tenth birthday was a rite of passage, and children woke up in the wee hours of the morning just to gaze at the name on their chest, right above their heart.

For muggle-raised children, like Harry Potter, the appearance of a name where an odd birthmark had once been was a little more shocking.

"AH!" cried the young boy, staring into the bathroom mirror.

"Harry? Harry, what is it?" Petunia knocked on the door to the bathroom.

Harry threw open the bathroom door, denim trousers hanging from his thin frame but sans shirt. "My birthmark changed!"

Petunia peered at the mark, which had seemed to morph overnight.

"What is a doogevol anul?" Harry asked his aunt.

...

"Blimey!" cried Ron. "Loony is your soulmate?"

Harry rubbed his hair as he looked at the redhead. "What?"

Ron gestured to the mark on his chest. "Luna Lovegood. She's your soulmate."

Harry glanced down. " _That's_ what this is?"

"'Course," said Ron. "Everybody know that." The redhead's eyes grew wide. "Oh. I forget you were raised by Muggles. So, everyone has a soulmate and when you turn ten you find out who it is." He raised his shirt. "Susan Bones. She's in our year. Our parents wrote a contract right after her tenth birthday."

"Contract?" asked Harry.

"A marriage contract," said Ron, tugging his shirt back down. "Loony's birthday was last fall, but that whole family is a bit off their rocker, so if you didn't hear about a contract I wouldn't worry. She's my sister's year, so she'll be here next fall."

The redhead finish getting ready for the day, and Harry went through his morning ablutions without really thinking. Two days at Hogwarts, and now he had a soulmate? And she was crazy?

He wondered if it was too late to transfer home and go to Smeltings with Dudley.

...

"Hermione?"

The curly-haired witch quirked her head, but otherwise did not look up from the Charms book she was reading.

"Hm?"

"Who is your soulmate?"

The girl froze. "Pardon?"

"What name do you have? Do you know who it is?"

Hermione turned the page of her book. "I don't know what you're talking about, Harry."

He furrowed his brow. "Don't you have a name on your chest?"

"If I did, it wouldn't be any of your business." Her voice was clipped.

Harry blushed. "Oh, OK."

She sighed and looked up. "Do you really want to know what my name says, or are you worried about what yours says?"

He looked down. "Ron said that my name is crazy. He calls her Loony."

"Ron is a giant prat," said Hermione testily. "The only things he likes to talk about are chess and Quidditch, and he doesn't do his homework. He hates Slytherins as a rule without getting to know any of them, he's been mean to me since my first day here, and if you want my two cents he's not very nice to you either. What makes you think he'd be any different toward your soulmate?"

The tension in Harry deflated a bit. "You're probably right."

Hermione gathered her books. "Of course I am. Have you met her yet?"

He shook his head. "She'll come to Hogwarts next year."

"Then there's nothing to worry about until then," said Hermione, walking toward the circulation desk where Madam Pince glared at the two first years who had the audacity to have a conversation in her library.

...

The following year, Harry watched the sorting closely. When Professor McGonagall called "Lovegood, Luna!" he smiled as a tiny, fair-haired witch pleasantly made her way to the stool, no trace of anxiety of fear on her fey little face.

"Ravenclaw!" the hat shouted after only a moment.

Harry's heart sank a bit. He'd hoped she'd be in Gryffindor.

But before she went to sit at the table of Eagles, she made her way to the Gryffindor table, walked right up to him, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Hello, Harry Potter," she said. Then she turned and made her way to her wide-eyed housemates, leaving her dark-haired wizard with bright red cheeks and completely speechless.

...

Having Luna Lovegood as a soulmate wasn't too bad, Harry decided. She mostly kept to herself, and if anyone thought she was a bit odd, the fact that she was fated to be with the Boy-Who-Lived kept them from bullying her too much. She occasionally studied with him and Hermione in the library, and often joined them for a spot of tea with Hagrid, although she always made her way to the hippogriff pen after too long.

She also came to all of Harry's Quidditch games; after much prompting from Ginny, he even gave her one of his Gryffindor scarves to wear.

She didn't giggle like Lavender Brown, who wore Cormac McClaggen's practice jersey everywhere. She smiled and thanked him, and then she kissed him on the cheek again.

He turned as red as his scarf each time she did that.

...

When she met him in the Great Hall for the Yule Ball, his jaw dropped. She wore a bright red dress with a full skirt that came up to her neck in front, but left her back bare to her waist.

"Hermione thought it was important that I wear your house colors," she said, ignoring the way his mouth hung open. "Do you like it?"

"You look great, Luna," he said, picking his jaw up off the floor. He held out his arm.

"It's too bad she couldn't come with her soulmate. I told her he wanted to ask her, but she didn't want to talk about it."

"How do you know who her soulmate is?" Harry asked. Hermione had held that secret as close to her heart as the unknown name was.

Luna smiled. "Oh, it's quite obvious. He's completely enamored with her but can't show it. Not yet."

And then they were dancing, and Harry spared a glance for his friend on the arm of the Durmstrang champion who she had befriended that year, and whose fiancé had not been able to leave Bulgaria for the tournament. She looked… mostly happy.

...

Fifth year was the worst year of his life. In addition to Voldemort being back, the pink toad was out to get him. When her attempts to expel him didn't work, she took the roundabout approach to hurting him.

"Luna, I need you to lay low," Harry whispered into her ear. He held her and watched Hermione rub dittany into Luna's hands; they had all discovered that as long as they applied the salve right after, the blood quill consequences wouldn't be permanent.

"But she's clearly suffering from a Wrackspurt infestation. I merely pointed out that if she'd be more pleasant that they'd go away." Luna winced a bit at Hermione's touch when the older witch massaged the salve into the cuts.

"Wrap your hands when you sleep tonight, Luna," said Hermione matter-of-fatly. "And for Circe's sake, wear long sleeves and cover your hands. Don't let her see that you've healed, or she'll haul you back into detention for some trumped-up charge."

Hermione packed away the salve in her bag and pulled out a book to prepare for the next DA meeting.

"Poor Hermione," said Luna, leaning back into Harry. He raised an eyebrow. Luna shrugged. "She thinks the Fates are playing a joke on her, with her soulmate, but Urör doesn't make mistakes. Really, Hermione just isn't paying attention."

One of these days he was going to convince Luna to tell him who Hermione's soulmate was, but for now he was content to hold her and gently wrap her hands, breathing in her scent and basking in her calm as he talked himself down from transfiguring the Hogwarts High Inquisitor into an _actual_ toad.

...

When Ron balked at bringing Luna on the Horcrux hunt, Harry put his foot down. His soulmate—her position in his life well-known to everyone at this point—would not be at a Death-Eater-controlled Hogwarts. It was a point of contention all summer; when the Death Eaters came to the Burrow during Bill and Fleur's wedding, Ron took Susan's hand and simply shook his head when Hermione, Harry, and Luna looked to him.

And so their quartet became a trio.

The Horcrux hit them all differently. It called Harry a failure, The-Boy-Who-Couldn't-Do-His-One-Bloody-Job, the reason all of his friends—his soulmate—were going to die. When Luna wore it, the light that Harry loved flickered and dimmed, and she spoke very little; she heard the whispers of how she was unworthy of a soulmate like Harry, and how could he ever truly love poor Loony Lovegood.

Hermione never shared what the Horcrux said, but she took to memorizing poetry when she wore it to drown out the evil whispers. She thought there was lovely irony in memorizing Yeats's "The Second Coming" during their mission, but it sent shivers up Harry's spine every time she whispered, "And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"

Luna almost cried each time Hermione lost herself in whispered recitations of "desire unlimited, my uncertain road," and "dark watercourses where eternal thirst follows, and infinite sorrow."*

...

When Voldemort finally fell—disintegrated, really, into his own, backfired spell—Harry collapsed. When he came to, he was staring into the wrong eyes.

"Hermione?"

"Harry? Harry! Thank Godric, you're alive. I saw you go down and…"

"Where's Luna?"

Hermione looked around, fear growing evident on her face. "I don't… I don't see her."

And then he was up and racing for the Great Hall, asking everyone on the way if they'd seen her. And it was too dark and too dirty and everything was covered in layers of dust and debris and he couldn't see her bright hair.

"Luna!" he cried as he threw open the doors. "Luna!"

"I'm here, Harry," came her perfect voice. He followed it to a corner, where she was bandaging Draco Malfoy's arm.

He drew his wand. "Luna, step away."

She ignored him. "As soon as I'm done, Harry."

"Luna, we need to take him into custody. He's a Death Eater."

"Of course he's not."

"Luna, his bitch of an aunt _tortured_ you!" He suppressed a shudder of the night he watched Bellatrix carve 'traitor' into Luna's arm, cackling all the while. Luna's screams still haunted his nightmares.

"Yes, she did. Remind me to thank Molly for killing her later." She finished wrapping the bandage and surveyed her work. "There, all done." She looked over her shoulder, near where Harry was standing, and then looked back at the blond wizard. "I know you'll need to speak to Kingsley—let me know if I can help—but that can wait until later."

Draco kept looking down at his knees and nodded mutely. Harry pulled Luna toward him, protectively. She simply pat his arm and absently kissed his cheek.

When Draco looked up, Harry glared at him. But the blond didn't see it, for he wasn't look _at_ Harry, but _past_ him, with eyes wide in fear and guilt and regret and despair. And something else—a question, perhaps.

And behind him, Harry heard his best friend whisper, "then I will dream that hope again, but else would die…"**

Hermione ran past him and threw her arms around the blond, pressing her lips to his, and his arms snaked around hers, and Harry's jaw dropped when he saw Draco's hand drop to cup Hermione's…

"Let's let them have a moment," said Luna. She pulled Harry through a door to a small hallway off the Great Hall. He grabbed Luna and pulled her close to him, as if he couldn't believe she was still there. They stood there, holding each other, for what seemed like hours.

"You're OK," Harry said, finally breaking the silence. Luna heard the question in his voice.

"As OK as I can be, given we just fought in a war," she said. "But I'll be OK." She squeezed him. "So will you."

"I love you," he whispered in her ear. "Marry me, Luna."

She pulled away and smiled up at him. "So should I have Daddy finally send you the contract?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "What contract?"

She shrugged. "The one he wrote on my tenth birthday, of course."

* * *

*Pablo Neruda's "White thighs, hillocks of whiteness…"  
**John Donne's "The Dream"


	4. What's Wrong With Your Face?

Title: What's Wrong with Your Face?  
Characters/Pairings: Hermione Granger/Marcus Flint

Forum/Challenge: HPFC FRIENDS Challenge  
Prompt: Use the dialogue prompt 'What's wrong with your face?' (7.5)

Forum/Challenge: HPFC Soulmate!AU Challenge  
Prompt: Your soulmate's first words tattooed on your skin.

World: Hogwarts  
Word Count: 975  
Rating/Warnings: T for language

* * *

" _Densaugeo_!"

The curse missed Harry by only a bit, hitting his best friend square in the chest. Hermione Granger could feel her front teeth start to lengthen, bit by bit. She knew, cognitively, that Madam Pomfrey could fix her right up, but really it was the principal of the thing.

She was already a buck-teeth bookworm, and now she'd been hexed to have even bigger teeth. It was like someone sending a static electricity jinx at her head. In the grand scheme of things it wasn't a big deal—magic could both cause and cure many ills—but even the smartest 14-year-old girl could have moments of insecurity.

Which is how Hermione found herself in the infirmary, quietly crying while the Madam Pomfrey tended to another patient.

She wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her robe and pushed her tongue against the back of her teeth. They had stopped growing, courtesy of the matron's quick wand, but were still long enough that she couldn't hide them by simply keeping her mouth closed.

How mortifying.

When Madam Pomfrey finished with her patient, she turned to Hermione. "I need to complete this young man's paperwork, but I'll be back in a moment. Sit tight and I'll get you all fixed up." And with that, the matron disappeared.

Hermione had barely nodded when Madam Pomfrey spoke to her. She refused to look up, hoping that not making eye contact with anyone would mitigate her embarrassment.

Honestly, could this day get any worse?

"What's wrong with your face?" a voice in the bed next to her sneered.

Her heart stopped. Those were her words. _Her words_. The words that had been tattooed on her arm since her first magical maturation at seven. The words she'd memorized, listened for, been simultaneously thrilled by and terrified of.

The first words her soulmate would speak to her.

Hermione searched for breath as she realized the boy in the bed next to hers—the one Madam Pomfrey had just helped, the one wearing a green and silver tie, the one who had _sneered_ at her pain and mortification—was her soulmate.

Well that was just the limit! She looked up and glared at the boy, who was missing a front tooth and nursing a black eye that the bruise paste hadn't quite fixed yet. She should have been more conscious of her words—the first she would speak to this boy—but she was too upset and angry to care.

"That's none of your _bloody_ business, now is it? I didn't ask you how you ended up missing a tooth and sporting a shiner. It's not like you Slytherins care about anything but hexing people and saying hateful things and being stupid, evil ferrets!"

As soon as she finished her outburst, her hand went to cover her mouth, her eyes went wide, and tears fell anew. For as sure as his first words to her were tattooed on her arm, she realized her first sentence was tattooed on his.

And like every other magical child, he had memorized those words. Words that weren't ubiquitous, like "Hi" or "Nice to meet you," where teenagers double checked to see if the words had disappeared—if they had met their soulmate—each time they met someone new.

Hermione and the boy across from here didn't have that problem. She was beet red, still covering her mouth while tears fell, and his eyes had gone wide as saucers as he looked her up and down with the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen, and then he stared significantly at his right arm, where he knew the words that had been there for so long were fading away.

Because, like her, he hadn't had a vague introductions etched into his skin. No, he had a very specific phrase—one he'd been waiting to hear for almost ten years.

But before he could look back up at her, Hermione ran from the infirmary. She could live with her oversized teeth a little longer; she absolutely could not face the boy—the older, admittedly handsome, _Slytherin—_ who destiny had chosen for her.

And she wouldn't that day. Or the next. Not for years and years—long after Voldemort had been defeated and after too many funerals and too many nightmares. Not until Ginny Weasley married Adrian Pucey, of all people, would Hermione reconnect with Marcus Flint.

"I'm sorry I didn't try to track you down," Marcus told muttered to her over canapés. "I didn't know what to say."

She shook her head and took a sip of expensive champagne. "I wouldn't have listened. You said the words, and they disappeared, but I still wouldn't have listened. Muggle-born and all, I couldn't quite comprehend what it meant. Not at fifteen."

Marcus nodded. "And now?"

She turned to the tall man. He looked much as he had in school, but there was a softness to him that hadn't been there before. Time away from the scheming Slytherin common room had helped dull the edges of severe Marcus Flint, and a life of Quidditch had kept him in shape.

He still had those same piercing blue eyes though.

She held out her hand. "Hermione Granger. Assistant Undersecretary for the Minister for Magic, former Gryffindor and Head Girl, and creature rights activist."

He took her hand in both of his—hands so big the dwarfed hers—and ran a finger along her forearm, where his first words to her would have once been.

"Marcus Flint. Former Slytherin Quidditch Captain. Current Beater for Puddlemere United. Death Eater draft dodger." Then he brought up the inside of her wrist to his mouth and kissed gently. He looked up and smiled at her blush. "And, Hermione Granger, I think you have the most beautiful face I've ever laid eyes on."


	5. The Taste of Victory

Title: The Taste of Victory  
Characters/Pairings: Hermione Granger, Lily Evans Potter

Forum/Challenge: QLFC Round 12 (Beater 2, Ballycastle Bats)  
Prompt: Write about two characters who are enemies.  
Opt-Prompts: (dialogue) "I've forgotten what it's like to feel young", (object) blouse, (word) fix

World: Post-Hogwarts AU  
Word Count: 2,520

Fabulous Beta: crochetaway

A/N: There are always so many parallels drawn between Hermione Granger and Lily Potter. This would make them best friends, right? Maybe… Also, this is in no way a reflection of my relationship with my MIL, who is lovely.

* * *

"Hermione, are you ready?" Harry leaned on the doorframe and smiled at his wife, who was fixing the collar of her silk blouse.

"Just a sec," she said, making brief eye contact with him in her vanity mirror while she reached for her pearl studs, which she then fastened in her ears. She gave herself a final once-over, anxiously fiddling with her wedding ring, and then stood.

"OK. Checklist?"

Harry strode forward and put his hands on her hips, grazing the soft wool of her skirt. "Checklist. Wedding ring?"

She held up her left hand. "Check."

"Manicure?"

Her right hand joined her left, where her nails were very short but neat. "Check."

"Hostess gift?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, still put out by her mother-in-law's latest critique, and gestured to the nightstand by the door. "Check. A lovely potted rosemary bush. Who brings a hostess gift to visit _family_? She's really started to reach."

Harry leaned in and nuzzled his wife, dropping a small kiss under her ear. "A husband who loves you more than anything in this world?"

She smiled and felt the tension in her shoulders relax a bit. "Check. You know I wouldn't put up with this for anyone else, right?"

He pulled back and took her hand in his and led her to the parlor, grabbing a tiny plant with a festive bow on it on his way out of the room. "I know. And I promise it will get better. My mother is… she's a Gryffindor, good and bad. She's fierce and more than a little brash. She's also incredibly protective, and in her mind you are the threat to the perfect life she had planned for her little cub."

Hermione huffed. "I'm not sorry I'm not Ginny Weasley."

Harry laughed and pulled her hand to his mouth, kissing it and gently leading her toward the Floo. "I wouldn't have married you if you were. Mum and Molly may have had plans for Ginny and me when we were toddling around at the Burrow, but I've always thought of Ginny as a sister. Besides"-he grinned at wife with a smile that spelled trouble-"I think this Yule Molly is going to discover that Ginny never thought that way about me either."

Hermione's eyebrows raised. "She's taking Luna to the Burrow?"

Harry nodded. "Saw her in the Ministry the other day; she's nervous as hell but you know Gin, her nervousness is only making her more stubborn. The real question is how does she react after Molly's inevitable meltdown: by leaving family dinner altogether or snogging Luna in full view of everyone?"

Hermione chuckled. "Probably both," she admitted, before she threw a handful of powder into the fireplace, called out "Potter Manor!", and stepped through still holding her husband's hand.

* * *

Lily Evans Potter sat at her vanity, tapping her long, perfectly manicured nails against the glass tabletop. Her bright red hair was coiffed in a perfect French twist, leaving her pale neck bare. Lily scowled at the thinness of her skin, the lines starting to form at the corners of her mouth and eyes, the subtle but evident signs of age that were manifesting on her once-beautiful face.

"Lils?" called James from the hallway. "They'll be here any minute!"

"Coming, James." She stood and smoothed the imagined creases out of her maroon shift. She turned and found her husband waiting for her in the doorway to their dressing room, grinning foolishly.

"How'd I ever land a bird as pretty as you, Lils?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Toe-rag," she muttered, though there was no heat behind the invective.

James came up behind his wife and lightly rubbed her shoulders. Lily closed her eyes and sighed.

"I don't like her."

"I know."

"I don't see how you can humor him. She's no good for our Harry. She's not a proper wife; she forgot to wear her wedding ring last Yule, James! What if we'd had guests? What would people think?"

James raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. Lily rolled her neck, trying to relieve the tension that settled there every holiday season.

"She's too interested in the theoretical side of magic, James. What magic _can_ do, not what it _should_ do. That's the problem with Ravenclaws. They want knowledge for knowledge sake, and pants on the consequences. Who knows what kind of unethical experiments she's running down in the DoM."

"Last I heard they were trying to cure Dragon Pox," James said, chuckling.

Lily glared at her husband in the mirror. "Some Muggle scientists invent new diseases and plagues, just in case of biological warfare. You can't tell me that's not a possibility."

"You think Hermione is inventing biological weapons?" James cocked his head and looked long at his wife.

"Maybe!" she cried, throwing up her hands. Lily stood and turned, placing a hand on her hip-a sure sign she was ready to launch into a diatribe.

"She's a Ravenclaw. At least with Slytherins we know we're getting evil gits. Ravenclaws are sneakier, and they'll pull an Albus Dumbledore and try to mask their grey and dark magic as the pursuit of knowledge for the 'almighty greater good!'"

"You were almost a Ravenclaw," James chided her.

"But I wasn't! The hat saw me for who I truly am-a Gryffindor. Harry deserves a Gryffindor woman. At least then we know she'd be a Light witch, and certainly not inclined toward blood purity."

"Lily." James rolled his eyes. "Hermione is Muggleborn. I'm fairly positive she's not a blood purist."

Lily hmphed. "No, you're right. But that still doesn't mean she's a good match for Harry. She'll certainly never make it as a political wife if he decides to take the seat on the Wizengamot. That _hair_ … I just don't see why he couldn't have married Ginny. They're perfect for each other."

James bit his tongue. He could explain to his wife that after seeing little Ginny Weasley with her tongue down Xeno Lovegood's daughter's throat, but Muggles were weirdly conservative about same-sex relationships and Lily had come from a family where such couplings were verboten.

James took his wife's hand and led her to the hallway. "It's too late, Lily. They're married. They're happy. Harry _glows_ when he talks about Hermione. Watch him tonight, Lils. Watch how he looks at her and try to remember what we were like at that age."

Lily rolled her eyes and plastered a fake smile on her face as she rounded the corner to the parlor and heard the Floo flare.

* * *

Hermione, wearing an equally fake smile, embraced her mother-in-law, touching the woman as little as physically possible in the process.

"Lily, James, it's so nice to see you. Happy Yule." She offered her father-in-law a genuine smile, which he returned in kind. She turned back to Lily and offered her the small rosemary bush she'd brought. "Thank you for having us. I know hosting guests isn't easy."

Lily's smile faltered at the small bush-it really was the perfect hostess gift, which meant her final barb last Yule had struck home-but she recouped quickly and returned the volley of social politesse. "Oh, posh. Our Harry could never be a guest here-he's family!" She turned before the younger witch could make a retort and started muttering about 'where will I find a place for you' and 'rosemary does certainly take an awful lot of time and care to cultivate'.

Hermione allowed for a moment of hurt-it was apparent while Lily considered Harry family, Hermione certainly was _not_ -before she turned back to James and offered him a big, genuine hug. Afterward, Harry took her by the waist and squeezed. It was comforting, and she knew it was a show of solidarity, but a small part of her wished he'd call his mother out on her snideness.

She pushed that feeling down. She knew what she was getting into when she married Harry. She knew, despite her youthful hero worship of Lily Evans Potter, that she would never get along with the witch. She knew that, though the two witches shared many traits, Hermione would always be lacking in Lily's eyes, and Hermione would always see Lily's inability to let Harry live life on his own terms as contemptible.

It was a quiet, cold war between the two witches. There was no bloodshed, but that didn't make the scars they carried from their battles any less palpable.

Hermione knew she was at a disadvantage. The primary weapon in the war-namely, wizarding social etiquette-was something she was only just mastering, while Lily had over twenty years of navigating the nuanced world of pureblood culture. It didn't hurt that witches were valued as much for their looks as their magical prowess, and even twenty years her senior Lily had Hermione beat in that regard.

Harry, of course, would have been the ultimate weapon, but both women were loath to use their influence with the wizard, lest that plan backfire and he side with the other for being 'forced to choose'.

* * *

As always, dinner was polite, if a little cold for the forced conversation between Lily and Hermione. The former always asked about Hermione's work in the Department of Mysteries, and Hermione always reminded the redhead that she couldn't discuss ongoing projects, as she was under a vow of secrecy, which always then led to a debate over the purpose and value of experimental magic.

James and Harry spent this part of the evening drinking firewhisky and throwing each other sympathetic looks.

But after one too many Yules of being subjected to her mother-in-law's derisive barbs and dismissive attitude, after one too many digs at her Hogwarts House and her work, and after the third implication that night that she practiced Dark magic, Hermione Potter had had enough.

In a last-ditch effort to win the battle, to end the war, she turned to Harry. Her brown eyes bored into him, pinning him down. "You do realize your mother just called me a Dark witch, right?"

Harry's mouth gaped. The unspoken rule was that the two women never brought him into their little snits, so he had quietly been talking Quidditch with his father. He'd completely missed his mother's comment.

Lily, of course, knew this, and she hid the smirk on her face as she waited for Harry's defense of her. Here was a crack that might bring down the whole fortress, that might be the beginning of the end of her son's unfortunate marriage.

Harry recouped. "I'm sure you just misunderstood, sweetheart," he said softly, putting his hand on hers. "Mum wouldn't say that."

James shot a look at his wife, knowing she'd implied that very thing in the privacy of their bedroom earlier that night.

In a feat of emotional check that would have made a Slytherin proud, Lily's face registered hurt and shock, while internally she was crowing in victory.

And Hermione, in that moment, saw her future-a lifetime of uncomfortable Yules, of pushing down her own feelings to appease her husband, of children caught in the middle of this cold war of witches-and she did what she'd sworn not to do.

She waved the white flag.

Perhaps it would have been different if she'd been a Gryffindor, but as the token Ravenclaw at the table, she was removed and rational enough to realize that to win the war, she'd have to lose the very thing she was fighting for: Harry. She'd destroy his relationship with his Mum, and he'd grow to resent her for that.

So she did the only thing she could do.

Letting all her emotions show-the hurt, the anger, the fear, the frustration, the incredible exhaustion-she turned to Lily and admitted defeat. "You win."

Then she turned back to Harry and quietly-almost too quiet for James and Lily to hear-said, "I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry."

And she took off her wedding ring, sliding it over her too short nails that she'd bitten to the quick in her anxiety over the Yule season and dealing with her mother-in-law. She placed it on the table in front of him, where he looked at it, dumbfounded.

"Hermione, what…"

"Thank you for dinner, but I'll see myself out now." She turned before the tears started falling from her face, the Occlumency shields that had been holding them back all but gone after the emotional tumult of the evening.

And she was gone.

And not a moment later, Harry was running after her, discarded wedding ring clutched in his hand.

Lily had but a moment to enjoy her victory before her husband turned to her, fire in his eyes.

"You have to fix this, Lily."

She turned to him, shocked. "Excuse me?"

He frowned. "You will apologize to Hermione, and you will end this ridiculous war between the two of you. It's time to make peace."

"She's the one that left James-she's the one that just walked out on our son! How can you blame me?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Because it's your fault she left. Even if you didn't call her a Dark witch, Lils, you've been on her case from the first moment he brought her home. Enough is enough."

"If she can't handle a little criticism…"

"She's taken far more than she should be expected to. You wouldn't have lasted nearly this long if my mother had treated you the way you treat her. I think you've forgotten what it's like to be a newlywed building a family. What it's like to be that young and to be looking for solid ground and a safe place to land. You could have taken her under your wing like my mother did with you. You…"

Lily blew up, interrupting him. "You think I've forgotten what it's like to feel young? To be young? You're right, James, I'm reminded of my age every time I look in the mirror. I'm reminded of it after every faux pas I make at society events, because twenty years later I still can't make up for not being born into a wizarding family. And I'm not sorry for wanting someone better than me for my son!"

Her chest heaved at her outburst. She glared at the dark haired wizard, the love of her life, who looked back at her sadly.

"I didn't want anyone else, Lils. I just wanted you. I've always only wanted you, and sod everything and everyone else. And I've been happy."

She pursed her lips. She'd been happy too-mostly. Except for the stupid society dinners, where she never quite felt like enough a witch. The inadequacy tore at her, ate her alive.

James shook his head and stood. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the problem isn't that you don't remember what it's like to be young. Maybe the problem is you don't remember what it's like to be willing to face down Dorea Potter for me, to defend me against blood purists who called me a traitor for marrying you. Maybe you don't remember what it's like to be so in love with someone that you'd face any battle for them."

He walked out of the dining room then, leaving Lily with a thousand retorts dying on her tongue and the taste of victory turning to ash in her mouth.


	6. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Title: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year  
Characters/Pairings: Hermione Granger/George Weasley, Weasleys

Forum: The Golden Snitch  
Challenge: Tree Lighting Ceremony  
School/House: Mahoutokoro, House Mizu

Prompts: (word) popcorn, (object) tinsel, (object) mistletoe, (object) candy canes, (object) Christmas tree, (object) lights, (object) bells, (song) O Christmas Tree, (object) reindeer ornament, (object) wreath, (object) candles, (object) nativity scene, (object) Christmas spider, (object) stocking, (word) apples, (word) angel

Points: 90 (10 entry, 5/prompt x 16)

World: Post-Hogwarts AU  
Word Count: 2,642

XXXX

Once, it had been her favorite time of year.

Christmas had really started when she flew off the Hogwarts Express and into her parents' arms and goggled at the decorations as they drove home. It ended, of course, Christmas night, curled up on the couch next to her parents, eating popcorn and sipping hot cocoa and watching 'A Muppet Christmas Carol,' which had supplanted 'It's a Wonderful Life' as their annual Christmas film her second year at Hogwarts. She never failed to fall asleep before the end, her mother whispering "Merry Christmas, Hermione," in her ear just before she drifted off.

The wizarding world had brought a whole new facet to the holidays as well, from the Yule Feast at Hogwarts to the magical appearance of gifts on her bed Christmas morning to the wizarding-specific songs and traditions.

She smiled, remembering Sirius's rendition of 'God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs' her fifth year.

Then she frowned. Sirius was one of too many who should have been with them this holiday season. But he wasn't; so many of them weren't.

And that, of course, was why Christmas had become the worst time of the year.

XXXX

She stood back and surveyed her work.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had never been a shop characterized by subtlety, and their approach to Christmas decorations took the term 'flamboyancy' to new heights. Tinsel ( _Evanesco_ -proof, one sickle a bag) covered almost every available surface; mistletoe (charmed to prevent pairs from escaping until they kissed, two galleons a bunch) roamed everywhere; giant jars of candy canes (Kringle Kanes, which turned eaters into a Santa-look-alike until the treat was completely eaten, one sickle each).

The crowning achievement, however, was the almost four meter Christmas tree in the center of the shop. Hermione had charmed some old Christmas lights to run on magic, rather than electricity, and they lit up in time with whatever song was playing on the wireless in the shop. Each ornament (available for sale, of course) was also charmed accordingly: there was a miniature Hogwarts Express at the foot of the tree, chugging along anytime someone passed by; there was a dragon ornament that looked to breath fire (Hermione had insisted this was a safety hazard, so it was, in fact, not _real_ fire); a set of bells that would chime to 'O Christmas Tree' when prompted; and a reindeer ornament that changed its action based on whichever reindeer name was spoken. (At "Dancer", the ornament would launch into a rendition of the Macarena, which confused purebloods but delighted Muggleborns and halfbloods to no end.)

It was all too much, which is exactly how George wanted it. Exhausted, both from work and from visual and auditory overload, Hermione called it a night and trudged upstairs.

She found her boyfriend sitting in front of the fireplace, nursing a glass of firewhisky. He was staring into the flames, lost in thought. He hadn't even looked up at her when she shut the door.

Her heart clenched and, after pouring a glass of her own, she curled up into his side.

"How ya doing?" she asked softly.

He shrugged. "The flat's still in one piece, so I'd say better than last year."

She nodded and laced the fingers of her free hand through his. "The shop's decorated. I only cried twice."

He kissed her forehead. "Merlin, I love you." She could hear the relief in his voice.

She smiled. "I love you too."

XXXX

The next day, while George, Verity, and Ron manned the shop, she got to work on decorating the flat. She and George had agreed on a small, tabletop tree, decorated tastefully with fire-proof candles and a few meaningful ornaments from their childhoods. She put a simple wreath over the fireplace, where more people would be able to enjoy it; she and George were the only people who used the front door of their flat.

Underneath the wreath, she put out her heirloom nativity: a wood cut piece, left unpainted, that had been in her family for near a century.

"What is that?" asked George that night, spying the scene on the fireplace mantle.

"Jesus and the guys," Hermione said.

"Who?"

She explained the story of the nativity to George, finishing with, "and when I was young all I understood was that it was baby Jesus and a lot of other people, so I called it Jesus and the guys. The name stuck."

"You know wizards aren't religious, right?"

She shrugged. "Neither am I."

She didn't mention that it had taken her an hour to set up the twelve piece set: ten minutes for the actual arrangement, and fifty for the emotional breakdown she'd had before and after.

XXXX

"What the bloody hell is that?" cried Ron, eyes wide open in terror as he stared at the tree in the shop.

Hermione suppressed a grin. "Oh, Fido? He's a Christmas spider. Viktor sent me one for the holidays. It's supposed to bring you good luck in the new year. It's excellent charm work, don't you think? He seems so lifelike!"

Ron refused to look at the tree for the rest of the shift, a resolution made easier by the fact that his register line was never less than three people long.

XXXX

The rule was that they couldn't buy each other gifts that wouldn't fit in their stockings. Hermione had stipulated that they couldn't shrink their gifts, and George had demanded their would be no liberal use of wizard space to expand the insides of the stockings either.

George ended up with a pair of tickets to an upcoming Bats/Falcons match. She had written 'To be enjoyed with a non-Hermione friend of your choice' in the card, indicating that could be his gift to her.

It wasn't. He gifted her a simple locket, with a picture of her parents on one side. He had written 'I left the other side empty, in the expectation that you'll put a picture of your future family there someday.'

She spent the morning crying in his arms. She said they were tears of happiness, but they both knew that was a half-truth.

XXXX

They arrived at the Burrow, their smiles only slightly forced after their emotional the morning. Arthur was cuddling his first grandchild, Victoire, on the couch, while Fleur cooed over her daughter. Bill was talking with Harry, who had his arm thrown over Ginny's shoulders. When the redheaded girl spotted Hermione and George, she slipped her fiancé's grasp.

"Hey you two," she said brightly, engulfing them both in a hug. "Merry Christmas!"

"Thanks Gin," said George. "Can I interest you in a Christmas treat?" His eyes twinkled at her.

Ginny rolled hers in response. "I can't imagine anyone here will fall for that. We know you too well. C'mon, let me get you some eggnog before Mum finds you."

After making the rounds in the living room, including a big hug from both Harry and Ron, Hermione made her way to the kitchen.

"Hi Molly. Do you need any help?"

Molly Weasley was knee deep in her element, surrounded by a Christmas ham, giant bowls of vegetables, and more puddings than even her family could eat. "Hermione!" She enveloped the girl in a motherly hug, a huge smile on her face, compensating for the sadness in her blue eyes. It was a look that all of the Weasleys would wear at some point by the day's end.

Hermione drank in the smell of the woman. It was close, but it wasn't quite right. There was no hint of spearmint or cedar, nor was there the clean smell of antiseptic that neither of her parents could completely escape when they left the dental surgery at the end of each day.

She pushed down the hurt, though. Today was a happy day, a celebration. Everyone here had lost someone, and she wouldn't be the first to ruin the day with her tears.

"You look wonderful! Things aren't too busy at the shop? Where is George, anyway? It feels like we haven't see either of you in ages! I've got everything under control in here, sweetheart. Why don't you grab Ginny and set the table, hm?"

Before Hermione could answer, the timer on Molly's wand dinged and the woman turned back to her cooking. She was keeping busy so she wouldn't have to face the fact that Fred wasn't here. Hermione understood that. She and George had done the same thing, throwing themselves into the shop and their research.

She grabbed her friend and half-listened to the latest news about the Harpies as they set out the china and flatware. She also kept her eye on George, who was already on his second glass of eggnog and huddled in a corner with Charlie, who had Portkeyed in from Romania the day before.

She later overheard him whisper to Arthur, "I don't know who will crack first, but after last year I didn't want to leave you without reinforcements."

Last year, when Molly had absently asked George where Fred was when he arrived; when George had paused for a beat, and then disappeared back into the Floo and to his flat for the next two hours; when Molly had collapsed in tears and left the puddings to burn; when Percy had gotten so drunk he'd passed out at Christmas dinner; when Harry and Ron had dragged George, almost as drunk as Percy, back to the Burrow.

When Hermione had hidden in the bathroom three separate times to cry, wishing she was watching the stupid Muppet Christmas Carol with her parents.

XXXX

When she saw George go for a third glass of eggnog, she grabbed his hand. "Come with me?"

He nodded, and, casting a quick warming charm, she led him out to the orchard.

"How are you doing?" she asked, once they were a fair distance from the Burrow.

He shook his head. "He's everywhere. He may not be a ghost, but he's everywhere." He pointed to a seemingly-random tree in the orchard. "When we were seven, I fell out of that tree picking apples for Mum. It was _his_ accidental magic, not mine, that saved me from breaking my neck." He pointed toward the stream that ran behind the orchard. "We swam in that stream almost every day in the summer. He taught Ron and Ginny to swim, did you know that? I never had the patience for it, but he… but Fred…"

And George broke down.

They sat in the orchard, and he cried into her chest while she stroked his head. He'd grown his hair long, like her fourth year, so it covered his missing ear. He was wearing this year's Weasley sweater—a dark navy—and smelled of brandy and peppermint.

"He's gone, Hermione," George whispered through choked sobs. "My brother is gone and it's been almost two years and every day it hurts like hell. I keep waiting for it to get better, and it's not. I miss him so bloody much."

She thought of her parents, of the letter from the Australian Ministry of Magic notifying her of their deaths, of the way the smallest things sent her spiraling into a vortex of grief.

"I know," she whispered, her fingers running through his hair. "I know."

XXXX

After the warming charms started to fail, they returned to the house, just in time for Christmas dinner. Percy was only slightly drunk, Molly was completely absorbed in her granddaughter, and George held tight to Hermione's hand.

Arthur stood and clinked his glass.

"On days like today, we celebrate the things we hold dearest: each other. I look around this table and can't help but to feel so much pride in this family. But even as we gather here, we can't help but feel at loss for those who are already gone." Arthur's eyes teared, but he did not cry. "So today we celebrate family and friends, both those at this table and those who we miss dearly. To family and friends."

Everyone raised their glasses, echoing, "To family and friends."

"To Sirius Black," said Harry quietly, remembering the only father he'd ever known.

"To Helen and Daniel Granger," Hermione muttered.

Everyone waited. It didn't feel right for it to come from anyone except him.

Finally, George whispered, "To Fred."

XXXX

It was almost 10pm before George and Hermione made it back to their flat. Percy did eventually pass out, as did Ron, from too much eggnog, although Hermione was pretty sure both were drinking straight brandy by the evening's end. The only other Weasleys who didn't stay the night at the Burrow were Bill, Fleur, and Victoire, who had Flood back to Shell Cottage immediately after dinner.

"I'll make some tea," said Hermione, heading toward the kitchen.

George held out a hand to stop her.

She looked back at him. "Do you not want tea?" she asked.

He smiled. "Will you teach me to make your special hot cocoa instead?"

She still hadn't figured out how to get a television to work in a magical household, so they sat together and watched the fire.

"Your dolls are weird," George finally said.

"You mean Jesus and the guys?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah. Like, why is there a naked baby on top of the barn?"

"It's an angel, George."

"Still weird," he said. He glanced down and wiped away a small mustache of cocoa that had accumulated on Hermione's upper lip. "Thank you."

"For what?" she asked, fishing around for the last marshmallow in her mug.

"For putting up with me this Christmas. For decorating the shop and making me tea and keeping me from retreating too far into myself this year. It hurts so much, but it hurts less when you're around."

She nodded. "I know. You keep me from getting lost in the memories."

"From getting lost in the past," said George in agreement. "He'd give us so much grief about being together. The prankster and the prefect."

"The prefect-turned-prankster," said Hermione. "I like to think he'd be proud of me."

George leaned down and kissed her. "Indubitably, Miss Granger." He pulled back, smirking. "Though he'd think your baby angel was weird too."

"He'd probably charm it to insult me or something," said Hermione.

"Or to throw cheesy one-liners at you," grinned George.

"I'm too tired to think of Christmas-themed sexual innuendos," moaned Hermione.

"If that was your way of asking me to go to bed with you, I'm convinced," said George, banishing their mugs to the kitchen.

XXXX

The next year, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes released its new Christmas topper: a wizard in maroon robes who shot Christmas-themed insults to passers-by. The charms were based off the Marauder's Map, tailoring the insults to each individual who passed. Hermione thought that was a fitting tribute to Fred and George's childhood heroes.

And though no customers could see it, underneath the pointy wizard hat on each tree-topper was a shock of Weasley-red hair.

It was that year's best selling Christmas item.

Hermione still cried when she put out Jesus and the guys that year. George still drank too much over the course of the season, and Percy still passed out drunk after the Weasley Christmas dinner.

But Ginny, now married to Harry, also announced her pregnancy, and Ron brought his new girlfriend, Vicky Frobisher, to Christmas dinner, and Charlie revealed his big promotion and transfer—back to Britain, to oversee the Welsh Green reserve.

And before Christmas pudding, George clinked his glass, garnering everyone's attention. He toasted to his family, and to those who had been with them through the hardest years of their lives. Then he got down on one knee and asked Hermione to start a family with him.

She said yes, of course, and no one mistook her tears for anything but tears of joy.

Christmas still wasn't her favorite time of year, but it also wasn't the worst. Not anymore.


End file.
